If you would have made it
by PGNarutoFan
Summary: SPOILERS The first chapter is of a fantasy Evey has before V dies. In the chapters after that, Evey thinks about what it would have been like had V lived. Please comment and tell me what you think- thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta. I am but a fan.

**SPOILERS**

_**If You Would Have Made It**_

Name: Evey Hammond: Mood- Contemplation

I sit here alone in the Shadow Gallery, as V calls it. In a mood of complete contemplation over the only thing that matters in life anymore. Him.

V tells me little of his life, but I have a feeling it is not because he does not trust me- I feel it is that he does not want to waste time. He sees the end, an end that I have to remind myself everyday is nearer than the day before. I shudder at the thought, while he embraces it. This is one of the reasons V is the most wonderful thing to me. A man, a man who causes absolute chaos with the flick of his wrist- those burnt, singed wrists-but only for good. He told me once that it is just the universe at work, a reaction to what was done to him. But I fear the worst-will trying to fix the bad cause him to be something else? Will he die the hero or become the villain? I do not fear him hurting me- I know he will not. He has tested me, and I am strong. He has showed me this.

As I write this I want to laugh at how I sound. Like he is a God of some sort. What he is doing is a miracle. And what God has given me after all the tragedies I have endured is a miracle. Everything he touches, everything he does, every word he says creates or is a miracle in itself. This journal will probably never be read by anyone but that is fine. V has a message. And without knowing, on that one cold, dark night I was an instrument in that message. And I cannot express the level of joy that I have for meeting him that night. At that time, yes, I thought him a madman-but who wouldn't? I have come to love V. And all that he has stood for. Because he is not just a man- he is an idea. And though I cannot love an idea, I can love a man. And he has become both. And I will lay down my life without hesitation for him. For him, and for all that he believes in.

V has gone out for the night, I don't know where. After he killed Prothero- I don't care anymore. I just don't care. Just as long as he comes back. I sound like a child, I know this- a child waiting for her father to come home. But it is not this. V made me who I am. And though it is selfish of me to demand him, his time, his attention, his energy- I cannot stop myself. I just wish to be close to him.

Three hours have passed and V has still yet to return. I have watched The Count of Monte Cristo yet again, a reminder of what is inevitable. He has dedicated his entire existence to revenge, to justice- and I am just a passing person who happened to help him that one time. He would've found a way out of it without me. I just spared him a bit of effort. That was all. So why should I ever dream of being something more to him? Something that would be admired by him- the man who caused a revolution. A revolution of the entire world. And me, whiny, incompetent, lying, pathetic me. Just another spot on the floor. As I try to shove these thoughts to the back of my mind, I return to my room, for sleep is edging on my mind once again.

* * *

I begin to read a romance novel- drenched in philosophy, of course. I don't know if V would frown upon the thought of just reading a romance novel for the sweetness or if he would embrace it. But there are so many books, I simply picked the one I thought was the most reminiscent of past days. Binded by two strips of black leather the faded silver letters of 'The Promise of the Rose' are refreshing, and also quite dark, thinking of all that V has done with them- but then I think of where they came from, all the love within them, all the tragic stories that ended in the better of everyone- and the loveliness of them return. Embedded forever in people's subconscious, roses are the symbol of love and passion, forever and always. Very fitting, considering the circumstances.

I am utterly absorbed in the novel. The writer instantly grabs you and places you in the story. I reach the climax of the story within an hour- a lovely scene, dramatized, it seems at first- but it is just a scene of metaphors. There are never daisies, never an open field where the man of your dreams proposes to you. For they are dreams- and only dreams. And God laughs in the face of dreams and tells you what you are going to get. And though this seems harsh, God rewards those of strong faith with more than their dreams- extreme adventures and love stories to be told for all time.

I fall asleep and for the first time since I met V, I dream. A long and enthralling dream that makes me want to cry.

I am in an open field, full of Scarlet Carsons. They surround me completely. And though most would imagine a happy, too-blue sky, it is night, and there is one star in the sky. A single, unyielding star that makes the moon seem insignificant. I imagine the star pulverizing the moon-taking it apart from the inside. I feel an ache in my neck and look in front of me. An empty void, just a simple field of flowers. I laugh. I don't know why, but I do. I want to burst into hysterical laughter 'til I die of suffocation. It would be an amazing death. Suffocation from happiness. A legend of the happiest death, a sad reminder for everyone else that there's won't be as sweet.

Eventually, after spinning for what seems like ages, I finally run out of air and fall to the ground. For a single moment, I am unconscious. Reality grips me back again and I breathe. A deep, long breath that feels like a revival. Which it is, I believe, to some extent. There is something different about this though. I did not feel the rigid, unyielding ground as I crashed. A cushion. A grip. One far too familiar to be true, but one far too vague to be named.

"V." I whispered through chapped lips. Not an accusation. Not a question. A simple statement.

"Evey." He says, in that deep voice of the wisdom of a thousand years. But in such a light tone, like this wasn't crazy, like this was another greeting at another tea party at yet another generic rich host.

I turn around, with his help, as he is still holding me that firm but gentle grip. My knees skid across the field, as a few single, imperfect roses fall to the ground, still attached to its roots. Another metaphor. I am insane. But I don't care. I want this peace, I want this tranquility, this is all I want. I could die here. And I wouldn't care. This place, I wouldn't mind dying here. From suffocation, or from a divine power- I just don't care. I want to stay here. In his arms. He can keep that mask on forever, I don't care. I just want him.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and at this point I would just like to say that this is an ending in itself, so if you would like to hear my made up ending of if V had lived after the revolution, continue on to the next chapter. If not, please comment now and tell me what you thought. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta. I am but a fan.

**SPOILERS**

_**If You Would Have Made It**_

Name: Evey Hammond: Mood- Insanity

* * *

Me and V walk along in this field of flowers for a long time. And with the comfortable silence between us, I start to ponder. All the things that have happened, and what will inevitably happen, because that is the pattern- and we can't escape it. But what if it weren't? What if V and I- what if we could make it? What if he didn't die? Where would we go? What would we do? But, just as soon as these questions arise, they dissipate. They won't happen, so there is no need to waste time pondering it. I need to make the most of this time. Of this peaceful escape.

* * *

My mind betrays me, of course. But it is a dream- so maybe it is not betrayal. Maybe it is trying to show me the good. I don't know, I never know, all I know is that right now, whether this is real or not, V is holding my hand. Should this be a dream, should this be me going mad, my mind playing out a fantasy, or, a sudden portal to this place, a haven for me and V, I am here, and I have the gift of God holding my hand. _Nothing else matters._

In the time it takes me to blink, I am in the Shadow Gallery once again. There is V's song, the first music that I ever _really_ heard, playing on the jukebox. I leave my room, that seems different in some way, maybe as if it is faltering, falling in some way- I speed up, my intuition telling me I have a short time left before I am told to leave this haven- but it is more than I could've ever asked for already. In the kitchen, I see him standing there. But he is not the same. My mind tells me there is something different- but all I see is the mask. That is all I ever want to see. The face I fell in love with. He sets down a plate next to a cup of tea and ushers me to sit. I obey, knowing that this is only temporary.

He does not regale me with his tortured past, or his plan. He tells me a story about us. The story we could've had. The story that would've happened, if he was not going to die on the fifth. We sit, and I drink and nod, and laugh when it is appropriate. I cry a bit, but all tears of joy.

* * *

The night of his revolution, had God decided he should live, Evey would pull the lever with Mr. Finch standing there. And then, when the lever was pulled and the train on its way, they would both carry him up to a penthouse suite in an abandoned hotel directly across the street from the subway station. While in the elevator, they wrapped him in make-shift bandages to stop his bleeding. His pulse was quiet when they reached the suite. They set him on a large, luxurious bed draped with red and gold sheets and a black curtain adorning all of it. With his bleeding stopped, Mr. Finch and I opened the curtains leading to the balcony, just in time to see the fireworks and the final task completed. V was done.

Within the proceeding days, V was declared a hero, and the United Nations had a meeting with myself and Mr. Finch. Since V was still unconscious from his wounds, we spoke for him and told everyone that he was dead. He would want to be dead. To die for a cause that he loved. But I was selfish, and wouldn't let him. We could start a new life.

Mr. Finch and I came up with a plan to make peace with America and send them enough medical supplies and agriculture materials to have a new start for their country, as well. We also made up a story for V so that he could get a new identification. And, when I remembered that he had burns, I asked for the best doctor in the world to have plastic surgery done on him. As the events would unfold, I would never know that V had no skin whatsoever. Mr. Finch would handle everything from getting V a new life to his surgery, and for my sake, he would never tell me. It was better that way.

I would handle all the press and government business while V recovered. The media, at this point, had no thought of even daring to report anything other than what was happening in what would become known as the Restoration. No one bothered to ask questions as the temporary leaders- Mr. Finch and myself- were doing with a Brit who had been sent to America twenty years ago and had only recently came back for medical treatments after suffering an extreme third-degree burn and amnesia. Mr. Finch claimed it was his cousin, and the media left it at that. They had no time for interrogating our personal lives. Just what we were doing for the country.

V had been asleep for a month and 3 weeks the first time he awoke. After his surgery, he had been returned to my new home- Dietrich's old home. The Gallery, for now, would be our getaway. Our reflection home. One day when we were old and crippled I would show everyone the Gallery and have them give it to the people, proof that there was once a revolution. And hoping, that people, for all time, would remember not only the Fifth of November, but more importantly that there is justice and true love in this world. And for me, I found these in the same place.

* * *

V had been awake for almost an hour according to his vital signs, but he had not opened his eyes. He could hear, though, and even though I could've easily said something, I did not utter a word or make a sound for an entire hour. Finally, V broke the silence, with his voice of a thousand years- that even near death couldn't break.

"Evey. I love you, Evey. But why?"

There was no hesitation in my response. I knew what he meant.

"Because I am a selfish person, V. I couldn't let you die. I wanted you all to myself, just you. I didn't want the world, V. Even though you handed it to me on a silver platter- for me to do with whatever I wanted, I didn't want it. I love you. That's it."

There was another silence. It dragged on for what seemed like forever, and I let my guilt saturate all around me, and in my heart.

"Evey." Was all he said. He didn't want to say anymore- and I could sense that he couldn't. But it was okay- because he didn't have to. He said that though dying for this cause he had spent his entire life on was his only goal, he didn't care anymore. That he just thought he didn't deserve me- the fool, I was the one undeserving- and that God, wherever he was, was a merciful God, far more giving than he had ever thought. For years, all he had asked God was to give him the means to destroy what drove him this way- and this was far more than he could ever deserve.

He might've cried at that point. But I did not see. I did not look at his bandages, wrapped tightly over his face. I looked at his eyes- the only thing worth looking into. The only thing that mattered. And I kissed him. It was a freeze-frame. Through everything that he did- and this was the stopping point. The most undeserving pebble in the sand- and I had a boulder. Someone that loved me, passionately, and was always there, always making me want to be perfect at every moment. But he didn't care that I was perfect.

* * *

Between V and I, whatever happened after that point, I will never know. I woke up from the dream. I woke up into the field of roses again, this time those imperfect roses gone, and nothing but a small patch of uncovered ground remained. But deep in the Earth, there were roots, reaching up to take the place and become perfect roses. Perfectly imperfect, in a sea of millions, each one different in some way.

I felt the tingling sensation from V's last kiss, the one we wouldn't have. But just seeing it was enough. Just knowing that he loved me was enough. I looked up into the sky again, and almost in slow motion, I saw the one bright star and the moon disintegrate into nothing. But, in their places came millions of tiny, dimly lit stars, the equal of them. I closed my eyes, and woke up, back in the Shadow Gallery. Back to the inevitable.

I would never remember this dream, but that was fine. I didn't need to. Because, if only for a little while, I had V, holding my hand in a field of roses. A dream. Though I shun the institution, they are normal human things. And in this one, I got more than I ever could have dreamed for-and while I could not stop the inevitable, this made inevitable that much easier to deal with.

Because I had the dream, I had it all, if only for awhile.

* * *

Please comment, and thanks!


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